


A Sticky Situation

by CuriosityKilledtheCas



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Arguing, Fighting, Kissing, Love, M/M, Make Up, h/c, implied sex, self conscious wade, watermelon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 09:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1814443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriosityKilledtheCas/pseuds/CuriosityKilledtheCas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter comes home, and he's pissed. Wade's already home, and he isn't helping. Peter Says the wrong thing... Wade reacts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sticky Situation

He knew it would always end the same way. He knew, the second he entered the apartment. He was just getting back from a mission, bruised, tired, and starving as always, when he came home—again—to the blasting sound of music shaking the dingy walls and trash scattered around every-fucking-where.  
“Wade!” He called out, but was either unheard through the explosion of music, or just ignored. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he really was just ignoring him. That’s been happening a lot lately. However, the second Peter’s still-gloved hand pressed down on the end button to the speaker plugged into his boyfriend’s ipod, Wade was out in a half a second, with a pissed expression ready on his face. Looks like another fight. Wonderful.  
“Wow,” He muttered, “Way to kill my vibe. You know, again.”  
“Not tonight, okay?” Peter just grumbled, flopping himself down on the couch, “I don’t want to argue tonight.” But just like he knew how things would go earlier, he knew how things were about to go now. Because it’s how it always happens. It always fucking ends that way.  
“Well I don’t want to sit in silence and watch you mope, Spidey. So I’m turning my music on.”  
“No you’re not,” Peter huffed, lazily zapping the bottom of speaker system with web.  
“You’re going to ruin them, you dumbass!” Wade yelled, snatching his things back, “What the hell? I paid, like, four missions-worth of money for that!”  
“Wade, I bought that for you for Christmas!”  
“Oh,” Wade faltered, but was back on his case not even a second later, “That doesn’t mean you can destroy my things.”  
“Our things, Wade. _Our_ things. You and me, that’s what you said when I moved in, right? What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. Or don’t you remember that?”  
“Yeah, I remember Pete. But I also remember that I said that before you stopped living here!”  
“What the hell are you going off about this time?” Peter groaned, sitting up on the couch.  
“You’re never home anymore,” The mercenary pouted, in a way Peter might have found adorable if he wasn’t so genuinely pissed off, “You missed our fucking anniversary last week and you didn’t even apologize for it! You were too busy getting a little old lady’s purse back for her.”  
“FYI, I was trying to take down a mass murderer in the city,” Peter glares, ripping off his mask for the first time since entering the apartment, “And second of all, it’s not like you had anything planned. You were depending on me to cook dinner and clean the house for you. Let me tell you something, Wade, I’m not your servant or your maid, and just because I don’t like living in a pigsty doesn’t mean I’m going to pick up your messes for you. When I wake up, I’m going to want this place spotless, and you’re going to make it for me.”  
“Why would I do any of that for you?” he spit back, “You’re treating me like shit.”  
“It must be a mutual thing, then.”  
“God, I have no idea how I managed to fall in love with you of all people,” Wade huffed teasingly, shooting Peter a little smirk, but his eyes had closed again. It was intended to be a joking jab, a compliment even, but obviously Peter didn’t see it that way.  
“Yeah right. I still don’t get how I ended up with you, either. You don’t exactly scream lovable.” There was no trace of humor in his voice. And, yeah, Wade could see that he was drained and maybe even a bit roughed up from whatever battle he went through today, but he was still pissed.  
“Excuse me?”  
“You heard me,” Peter mumbled back, sounding more bored than anything.  
“So what, you don’t love me?”  
Peter’s eyes shot open immediately, panic evident on his face. Shit, that was not what he meant. That was really, really not what he was trying to say.  
“No. No, I didn’t say that.”  
“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you said,” His voice went monotone, accepting, and Peter could see him slipping back into an introverted phase.  
“Wade, that’s not at all what I meant. C’mon don’t be like that.”  
“Like what? Unlovable? Sorry, Peter, I guess that’s just how I am. I don’t know _how_ you ended up with me,” He was twisting Peter’s words, but then again maybe Peter deserved it.  
“Stop it,” Peter practically demanded, “Stop that right now. You know that’s now how I meant it.”  
“Do I though? I mean, since coming home all you’ve talked about is how awful I am. I already know, Peter, I don’t need someone hovering over my shoulder to remind me. The voices already took that job.”  
“You know,” Peter’s blood was starting to boil, “You’re right. God, Wade, this is so like you. You can’t just guilt trip me into feeling bad about being mad at you when I have every right to be mad!”  
And maybe he should have tried to stop him, but when Wade started to walk away, Peter didn’t. He just let him go. And he knew what was going to happen next. Maybe the neighbors would call the police again about the noise. It wouldn’t be the first time their yelling got too loud.  
When Wade came back, it wasn’t Wade. It was Deadpool, emotionless and featureless.  
“Wade, take the mask off,” Peter ordered angrily, “I’m not dealing with this tonight. Take it off.”  
“Who’s Wade?” He asked, “You seem pretty eager to undress me spider-boy.”  
“Don’t get all witty to black out how you’re really feeling.”  
“Whatever are you talking about?” The sarcasm practically dripped from his voice.  
“That. That tone of voice right there. It needs to go.”  
“My sincerest apologies,” Wade said back in a way that made it quite obvious that he was most definitely not offering up his sincerest apologies.  
Peter wanted to explode. He wanted to scream at him, for being immature and annoying when clearly all he wanted to do was sleep. He wanted to tell Wade off for being inconsiderate and rude. But mostly, he just wanted to see Wade’s face.  
So instead of yelling, which is what all of his instincts told him to do in that moment, he just sighed and reached a still-gloved hand up to pull the black and red fabric off of his boyfriend’s face. Wade shied away, at first, turning back so that even Peter’s long arms couldn’t reach him from over the couch. But after a moment, Peter got up anyways and tried again to pull off the ugly material masking his face. Wade’s hand shot up, too, grabbing his wrist in a flash.  
“Don’t,” he spit, “I don’t want it off.”  
“Well I do,” Peter nodded chastely, flicking away his hand and pulling it off anyway. Wade’s head snapped to the side immediately, refusing to even look at him. Peter ran a hand across the cheek that faced him and pursed his lips. The scarred skin felt rough underneath his lingering fingertips. But it was a good kind of rough. It was familiar and nice, and proof that this really was his Wade, not just someone else wearing his costume.  
“Stop it,” Wade snapped, stepping away from Peter’s hand and taking off to the kitchen.  
“Will you please just come back here?” Peter whined in response.  
“Why, so you can tell me how much I suck? I already know that!” He called back, trying to make it sound more light-hearted than it really was.  
“No, so I can tell you I love you, stupid.”  
He didn’t get a response to that. Just the empty sound of silence, and then the slam of the refrigerator door.  
“I’m making a late-night snack, you want anything?” He changed the subject.  
But enough was enough— and Peter had enough.  
“You know that, don’t you?” He asked in a lower, gentler voice as he rounded the corner into the Kitchen where Wade was slicing away at a watermelon. He knew it had to have been the first thing he grabbed because Wade absolutely despised the taste of watermelon, unless it was a hot July night, and tonight snow fell from the sky out of their window. “You know I love you?”  
Wade kept his eyes trained on the fruit in front of him, frowning at the red liquid that oozed out of it, making his hands and the counter sticky.  
“Wade?” Peter inched closer, touching his shoulder softly, and leaning over to whisper in his ear, “I love you? Do you love me?”  
Wade’s eyes immediately met his, and he was about to say something when—  
“Ah, shit! Motherfucker!”  
The red juice from the watermelon was met with the thick red blood of Wade’s hand. He’s sliced straight through them, four fingers sliced cleanly off. Peter jumped back in panic, ready to call 911 or something, before he remembered the healing factor.  
“You okay?” He asked, with a slightly relieved laugh, watching Wade wiggle his newly grown on fingers, stretching them out like he was trying to see if they would still work.  
“That hurt like a bitch,” He laughed, too, “God, I fucking hate watermelon.”  
“Then why do you have it in our fridge?”  
“Well, I was playing fruit ninja and…”  
“Not this again,” Peter groaned with a chuckle, “We are so _not_ playing into your ‘iphone apps come to life’ fantasy.”  
“Fine,” Wade pouted, and this time it really was adorable, “But then we have to play into my other fantasies,” his voice slowed, dripping with sexual innuendos.  
“I guess we do,” Peter matched his seductive tone with a wink, jumping onto the counter and letting the watermelon drop to the floor, splitting into a green and red mush on the kitchen tiles. The table was sticky and smelled sickly sweet, but not as sweet as Wade’s lips when they leaned down and practically crashed into his. He felt the other man’s hands searching his back for a zipper or buttons or, fuck, anything to get his suit off.  
Yes, Peter knew from the second he walked through the apartment door how this would end. Hopefully, the neighbors wouldn’t call the cops to complain about the noise, this time.


End file.
